Читать книгу: «The Riddle of the Spinning Wheel», страница 14

Ten men removed him from it eventually and set him upon his feet, just as Dollops, slithering and sliding down from the dangerous height, with his heart in his mouth for his master's safety with that injured hand of his, landed with a plomp upon the soft ground, and gave Cleek the hand that had helped him all the way down that perilous journey, until he, too, was in safety at last.

"Gawd's troof, Guv'nor!" he ejaculated, as he whipped out his handkerchief and bound it tightly and professionally over the finger and down on to the strained wrist. "You're 'urt proper, ain't you? That was a narrer squeak, I don't fink!.. That's better, ain't it? I weren't a-goin' ter let yer git orf without that bit of bandages to 'elp the pain, not if we loses the blinkin' murderer 'isself! Let's 'ave a look at the chap, sir."

Cleek's good hand swung up across the boy's shoulder.

"Thank you," he said simply. "Hello! here's Mr. Narkom. Yes, let's have a look at the blighter, men, before you carry him off to the lock-up. I'm interested to know what he looks like beneath that mask of his. Just to get a line on his features, you know."

Speaking, he went up to the group of constables and, flashing out his torch, sent its spotlight upon the man's scowling face.

And it was just as he did this that Dollops let out a yell of amazement, and stared at him – mouth open, eyes wide.

"Gawblimey! and pink sossidges!" he exclaimed, whirling round upon Cleek in astonishment, "if this 'ere ain't the giddy limit! Why, that's ole Dirty Dick the Dago 'isself!"

"And this," said Cleek, as he glanced down at the crumpled bit of parchment which he still held, and smiled into Mr. Narkom's serious face, "is the missing will, or I'm a Dutchman! Quite a little bit of excitement for one night's entertainment, I must say! Who says anything about killing two birds with one stone? Men, I'm coming along with you to the lock-up. It's a bit late in the evening, or early in the morning, to be more literal, but I'm going to have a conversation with your prisoner which is going to elucidate many things for me. Mr. Narkom, I should advise you to go back to bed and take a rest. To-morrow is likely to be a heavy day."

Then, smiling, but still a trifle pale, Cleek swung into step with Dollops behind the little cavalcade which was wending its way slowly through the great gateway and out upon the road beyond – toward the goal of many imaginings and the proper elucidation of the riddle at last.

CHAPTER XXVI
THE END IN SIGHT

Cleek spent an hour in the "lock-up" with the man they had captured, and had what he scathingly called a proper heart-to-heart talk with him, coming away with the contemptuous feeling in his heart which all clean men must find there upon discovering a fellow creature who, to save his own skin if possible, is willing to split upon a pal.

He wended his way toward the Inn of the Three Fishers, with Dollops beside him, head downward, every faculty concentrated upon the proper unravelling of the riddle that confronted him. If two and two made four, then he had the answer pretty well elucidated at last. One had to fill in the gaps with a bit of imagination, but – he patted the pocket where the missing will lay, lying close against that packet of love-letters that he had found in Sir Andrews's desk. Funny how papers so often proved things where human flesh-and-blood failed. Clues – both of 'em. Strong clues. And likely to give surprise to one or two people he knew of. Lady Paula, for instance – and Ross Duggan.

"Dollops," he said quietly, as he let himself into the little hostelry with his latchkey, just as the dawn was striking the sky with rosy fingers and rending aside the dark curtains of night, "this is going to be a heavy day for us. I don't relish the task in front of me, and yet… It's no use funking the issue. Justice must be done – and if it's going to hurt some people pretty badly, it isn't my fault, is it?"

"It is not, sir," gave back Dollops emphatically. "But you come on up to yer room and let me attend to that there 'and. 'Urtin' pretty nasty, ain't it? I thought so. A bit er cold water'll 'elp some, an' I'm a dab 'and at the First Aid stunt since I took them lessons in Lunnon larst winter. We'll put yer right in a jiffy. But I carn't 'elp wishin' it was my paw, all the same. Miss Lorne'll be that worried when she 'ears.

"Then the best thing to do is not to tell her, you little Worry-Box," returned Cleek with a laugh. "It's luck it's my left one, so the writing won't be affected. A week or two will see it right. I wish I could cure all the heartbreak and unhappiness in this old Castle-keep as effectively in such a short time… Thanks very much. That'll do nicely, I think. And it's a good deal easier. Now, be off to bed, boy, and try to make up for the loss of that beauty-sleep which you've missed. To-morrow, or rather, to-day, is going to keep us all fairly busy, I imagine. I shall want you to come up to the Castle with me in the morning, you know – and I mustn't be later than ten o'clock."

And so it came about that in the morning Cleek, looking rather pale, with one hand in a roughly contrived sling, and with Dollops in close alliance with him, and Mr. Narkom bringing up the rear, made his way to the great door of Aygon Castle, rang the bell coolly, and nodded pleasantly to the door-keeper who admitted him as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened in the night that had just passed. As he passed through the gates with his companions and heard them clang to behind him, he laid a hand upon the gate-keeper's arm and spoke in a low voice.

"Heard nothing at all after we left, Burns? Saw no one, I suppose, this morning?"

"Not a soul, sair. Aiverybody seems to have overslept themsailves and never a word has even come to me over the telephone in my lodge."

"Good! Excellent! Well, keep your mouth tight-closed and know nothing if you are questioned. Not even to the master of the Castle himself. To nobody. Simply nothing untoward happened at all last night that you know of. Follow me?"

"Absolutely, sair."

"Very well, then. Come, Mr. Narkom, we'll make our way up to the Castle now. Fine place, isn't it? Wonderful bit of stone-work in that balustrade round the tessellated tower. Never noticed it so plainly before. Perhaps it's the fine day."

Speaking, he led the way up the drive, followed by a wide-eyed Dollops and a panting Superintendent who had not long finished his breakfast of bacon and eggs, and had missed his usual ten minutes' perusal of the newspaper after it.

Jarvis opened the door to them, bowing low over Cleek's cap as the latter proffered it, and giving Dollops a friendly wink behind his master's back as he led them into the little ante-room and went to summon his mistress.

As they sat waiting, Cleek saw Tavish, clad in riding-boots and trousers, and making a fine figure of a man, swing past the half-open door. Cleek nodded to him as he glanced in.

"Good morning. I say – come in a moment, won't you? I've got a perfectly astonishing piece of news!"

Then, as Tavish, with a nod and a smile, came into the tiny room, seeming, in his enormous stature, to fill up every nook and corner of it, and shook Cleek firmly by the hand, that gentleman leaned a little forward and whispered something in his ear.

Mr. Narkom saw the flare of eye and the slackening of jaw which betoken amazement as Tavish opened his mouth to speak. But Cleek held up a silencing hand.

"Hush! I don't want the thing made public yet, y' know, my dear chap. Only I thought perhaps you'd like to have a look in and see the final round-up of the villains. Take a back seat, you know. There's no harm in that. And I've the most amazing bit of evidence by me which I've traced it all to. Stolen will among other things. Bring it home to her as smart as you please. Ought to be worth watching when you see her face."

"Gad! – yes." Tavish struck one hand into the open palm of the other, and his nice face went grim. "The woman's a devil from the first letter to the last. And if you knew the things she's done to my future wife – Johanna McCall – well, it fair makes a man's blood boil. I'd tighten the noose round her neck, I can promise you, and with my own hands, too. The earth is well rid of her kind."

"In which I profoundly agree. And – hello! here's Miss Duggan. At half-past ten, then. I'll make arrangements for you to slip in unnoticed. It's going to be as sensational as a first-rate London melodrama. And – not a word, old chap?"

"Not one of 'em."

"Thanks very much. I'll rely on you, then. And we might even want you to lend a hand. What's that, Miss Duggan? Lend a hand for what? Oh, simply in capturing a somewhat wild mare that has got loose in this part of the country and has been kicking up a pretty shindy all over the place. Mr. Tavish's strength and knowledge of horse-flesh ought to be a real help, eh, my friend?"

Here he winked broadly at the vanishing Tavish, and brought up a chair for Maud Duggan after she had greeted Mr. Narkom and given Dollops a little forlorn smile as Cleek introduced him to her notice.

"And have you followed up any of the clues which you discovered yesterday, Mr. Deland, to the utter desolation of all my hopes and fears?" she asked him wearily, sitting down with her hands lying loosely in her lap, a very picture of despondent womanhood.

He bowed his head.

"I'm afraid I have. Several of them. And yet – I don't know. Anyhow, I want you all to come along to the library again this morning – and for the last time. After to-day you ought not to be put to any further worry and inconvenience, my dear young lady. But what I want you to do is to assemble all the members of the immediate household together for me, and tell them I've discovered a perfectly new clue altogether – and from a perfectly new person – someone who, so far as you or I know, has never even entered the house at all, at any time. So you see, that's not such bad news, is it?"

At these words her head came up upon the slim column of her neck, and she looked into his face with suddenly bright eyes.

"You mean to say that – you mean to say that you can prove that neither Ross nor – Captain Macdonald is guilty of that terrible crime?" she gave out in a shrill voice, shutting her hands together in her emotion, and breathing hard. "Oh, Mr. Deland, if you have only found out that– "

"Not quite so fast, please," he responded a trifle sternly. "I'm afraid I can't give you any of the facts yet. Only I want you to know that – in one direction, at any rate – you may have some cause to hope. That is, of course, if my deductions are correct. It all depends. Even a policeman can make a mistake – isn't that so, Mr. Narkom? – and find himself led away upon a false scent. It depends a lot upon the wiliness of the fox he's in pursuit of. And in this case, when there's a – animal's a female, one has the disadvantage of the woman's intuitive faculties and natural gifts of deceit. 'The female of the species' – you know what Kipling said, of course? That sounds rude, doesn't it? But it's amazingly true, all the same – yourself, I'm sure, always excepted."

She made no answer to the little sally other than to pass a pale hand across a paler forehead, and pat a piece of dark hair into place, with that little gesture of forlornness which went straight to Cleek's heart.

"Then you have nothing more to tell me, Mr. Deland? Nothing for me to build my hopes on save that a new element has entered the case – "

"Together with an old element – yes," responded Cleek softly, with a stab at his heart for her pathetic appearance. "Just that. No more. I can tell nothing until I have you all there before me, and then – well, perhaps I shall be able to unravel the mystery for you, and put an end to your sufferings in that direction, at any rate. Would you be good enough, as you're passing, to ask the constable on duty outside the library door to come to me a moment? Mr. Narkom and I want to question him about one or two things. There's another one inside the room, so there's no chance of any one getting in and falsifying clues while he's away. Thanks very much."

She passed out, pale-faced, utterly forlorn, and the sagging droop of her shoulders sent another stab of pity through Cleek's heart, while Mr. Narkom – tender-hearted as a chicken, as he himself often put it – blew his nose loudly and passed the handkerchief surreptitiously across his eyes, and turned a sad face to his famous ally's.

"Poor girl, Cl – Deland, poor, poor, unhappy girl! It goes to my heart to see any woman so desolate as that. And a good-looking woman, too! She feels the whole wretched affair keenly. And if you'd only explained to me some of those wonderful theories of yours and given me some inkling of what you're going to say to 'em, I might have been a bit of help to her, you know. Human sympathy's a comforting thing – "

"But not always so comforting when it emanates from the police, who will probably wring her heart dry," returned Cleek with a twisted smile. "No, no, my friend. Bless your tender heart for the kind thought, but in this case it's up to me to tread warily. And the least suspicious glance cast at a guilty party, the least flutter of eyelid or brow in expression of one's knowledge – and the cat would be out of the bag, and all our trouble taken for nothing. I'm going to play 'possum to-day and lay low. And you've just got to forgive me beforehand and put up with it. I've no doubt your own theories coincide with mine but – Here's P. C. Mackay. Good morning, Constable. Mr. Narkom and I just wanted to have a few words with you, with reference to what arrangements you made for me last night. You followed out my instructions?"

P. C. Mackay, who was a slight, wiry, light-rooted chap, and so chosen by Cleek for the very work he had been given to do, nodded his head, and his hand came to the salute.

"I did that, sir."

"Good. No names mentioned, Constable … but you found some clues there, I take it?"

"Yessir. This." He looked from side to side of the room, as though uncertain how to produce the clue in case of discovery. But the door was shut, and only they four were within the confines of the small place. Then he put his hand into his breast-pocket and drew forth a little bit of crimson-covered flexible electric wire.

Cleek's face fell a little.

"That all?"

"Yessir – except for a photograph of a young wummun. It was hidden in a carved wood box on the dressin' table. I brought it along in case you might find some use for it. Here it is."

Speaking, he drew the bit of pasteboard from his pocket and handed it across to Cleek, who bent his eyes upon it, gave a little start at something which was written across it in bold capitals and underscored three times, gazed a moment at the pictured face, and then promptly opened his pocketbook and placed it within.

"Very good, Constable. Mr. Narkom, you will do me a personal favour if you arrange for P. C. Mackay's promotion. He did good work last night, and it must not be forgotten. You may go, Constable."

"Thank you, sir."

The man saluted smartly, grinned all over his ruddy Scotch face at the word "promotion," and went back to his position outside the library door, his head in the clouds and his heart longing for the time when he could impart this wonderful knowledge to his Maggie, and see her blue eyes brighten.

Meanwhile Cleek, the door shut once more, dived down into his pocket and produced the little bit of red electric wire which he had picked up in the library that first day before the tragedy had taken place, when Maud Duggan was showing him over the house. He fingered it idly, and then showed Mr. Narkom the two pieces spread upon his open palm.

"Not much in that, I'm afraid. Just the ordinary kind of wire which everyone uses, and with nothing to show any peculiarities," he said, speaking half to himself and half to the Superintendent. "Both cut with a sharp knife, obviously. Now, if they mated evenly – and gad! they do mate!" He brought them together and dovetailed the two frayed ends one against the other until the edges met in a perfectly even line. "That's a funny thing! A deuced funny thing! But they belong to each other as much as two twin souls belong. They're one and the same piece. Gad! and with the photograph of the estimable young woman – it proves it without a doubt!"

"Proves what, my dear chap?"

Mr. Narkom's voice was a trifle testy. The whole affair of that morning had got upon his nerves. In the first place, he had had to get up too early after a broken night, and in the second, Cleek hadn't given him time to digest his meal, and then the whole higgledy-piggledy of Cleek's words, from which he could make neither head nor tail, served to irritate him still further.

Cleek laid a hand upon the Superintendent's arm, and spoke in his most coaxing voice.

"Have patience with me, dear friend, as you have done before, and as you will have to do again," he said softly. "It isn't that I don't trust you – haven't I trusted you with life itself before now, and never found you wanting? – but it is that at present my theories are in somewhat of a muddle, and it's only keeping my own counsel that's going to help me to disentangle them."

"I know, I know, old chap," returned the Superintendent, casting aside his rancour at this apology from the man who was his best friend, with his usual heartiness. "I'm a slow-thinking old beggar, and somehow your lightning sketches get the better of my patience. But I'll back you to unravel the knot every time. Think you've come to the end, then?"

"I fancy so. With a little bit of bold guesswork thrown in to make equal measure. That must always be reckoned in the bargain, you know. But if I haven't found the person or persons who have murdered Sir Andrew in that cold-blooded and diabolically clever manner, then my name's not – Arthur Deland. And I know as much about the methods of sleuth-hounds as my old boot!"

So saying, he fell to examining the photograph again, and tossing the two pieces of flexible wire up and down in the palm of one hand, and muttering to himself like a lunatic, while Dollops and Mr. Narkom, in silence, could do nothing more but wonder and look on.

CHAPTER XXVII
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE LIBRARY

It was exactly eleven o'clock, and the various clocks in the house were chiming the hour out from every nook and corner of the Castle when Cleek, followed by Dollops and Mr. Narkom, made his way to the library, and found assembled there all the members of that ill-fated family – as well as those others who had perforce been obliged to stay there over-night at his orders – and with a polite "good morning" and a stiff little bow, took his place in the midst of them and glanced around.

They were a wan, white-faced lot. Lady Paula's black eyes were ringed with violet, Maud Duggan's face was pinched and old-looking in the morning light, as though the night had seen no sleep for her (which was true), Johanna McCall's little peaked face was pale as ivory, and her eyes looked heavy-lidded, as though she had cried overmuch in the still watches (which was true also), while Cynthia Debenham and Catherine Dowd sat with set faces and angry eyes, watching him as though deadly afraid of what he might say or do next. Ross Duggan's countenance was as lined as an old man's; Captain Macdonald showed by the flare of nostrils and flash of eye that his temper was still as hot as his tongue, and not improved for the keeping; and little Cyril – who slipped in a moment or two late, with Tavish bringing up the rear – had the look of a boy who was scared half out of his wits.

And scared badly he was, too. Trembling hands showed it; trembling lips showed it still more. Cleek's eyes narrowed down as he glanced at the boy's set face, and he found it hard to give him even so much as a welcoming smile. Like mother like son – that boy. As wily as you make 'em. And untrustworthy, too. He was not so fond of Master Cyril, now that he knew more of him, as he had been at first meeting.

When they were all seated, with P. C. Mackay keeping watch over the door and another constable on the outside of it, Cleek turned to them and let the queer little one-sided smile so indicative of the man travel up his face.

"Well, my friends," said he in his smooth, low-pitched voice, "I promised you something when I saw you again, and I'm here to fulfil that promise. The riddle of Sir Andrew's death is a riddle no longer. If you will have patience for a short time I shall explain a few things to you, and then – "

"You know who killed my husband, then? You know? – you know?" bleated out Lady Paula, starting to her feet with white face and hands clasped close against her breast. "You have found out the secret of his murder, Mr. Deland?"

"Yes – and I know who his murderer was, too, Lady Paula," returned Cleek sharply. "Sit down, Mr. Duggan, I beg of you. The door is guarded, as you can see – both outside and in – and perhaps it might be as well if I added caution to care and turned the key in the door – so." Speaking, he crossed the room in rapid strides, locked the door, and dropped the key into his pocket. "Prevention is better than cure, you know. Yes, Lady Paula, I know who murdered Sir Andrew, and I know how it was done. A dastardly deed at best – an abominable crime upon humanity in return for a family wrong. The old question of a vendetta – though of so recent a date as to be a mere matter of seventeen years back. You have been married that long, have you not? You are surprised, I see. Well, I confess it, so was I. And when you mix up such other unpleasant ingredients as a woman's ill-timed ambition, a blackmailer, and the green-eyed god jealousy, you find a very unpleasant mess of pottage indeed."

He spoke in his own way, unravelling the riddle in that leisurely fashion for which he was famous; but to those over-charged minds and hearts that surrounded him he seemed much like a cat playing with a mouse – and enjoying its fruitless efforts at escape.

"But the murderer – who? – who?" gave out Maud Duggan in a suddenly shrill voice, as a little silence held for a moment in that still room. "Tell us that, Mr. Deland, I implore you – "

"In good time, Miss Duggan. First of all, the ways and means. Look! – see that spinning wheel. There stands your guilty party in that innocent guise. The hand that guided that wheel killed Sir Andrew as surely as I am standing here. And how? An air-pistol. And who owns an air-pistol in this place but Mr. Ross Duggan?"

"It's a lie – a damned lie! And I'll have you to law for it, too!" Ross Duggan started to his feet, face crimson, hands knotted, eyes flashing at this plain implication of himself. "Damn you, whoever you are! – it's a lie! I did not kill my father! I swear it upon the sacred book itself! I did not kill him!"

Cleek held up a detaining hand.

"And who, may I ask, said you did, my fiery young friend?" he returned suavely. "If you will give me a little time to tell my story in my own way, I shall be extremely obliged. You stand self-confessed as the owner of an air-pistol. That we have proof of. The rest will follow in due course. But here is the instrument of death – this simple little spinning wheel, which, wired by electricity as it is, and with the pistol hidden inside that wheel with diabolical ingenuity, caused the death of your father. And who among you, may I ask, has such a perfect knowledge of electricity as to equip the thing like that?"

Again there was silence; meanwhile each looked at the other and the same name framed itself unconsciously upon every lip … Ross Duggan. It was not spoken aloud, but Cleek could read it as he looked about him. Then Lady Paula spoke.

"Then – it was Ross? It was that unfilial and cruel son of an unknowing and innocent old man, just as I knew it to be?" she shrilled excitedly, jumping to her feet and turning to Ross and seizing him by the shoulder as though she would tear him limb from limb. "Oh, sacremento! I knew it! I knew it! Wicked, cruel creature that you are! Ungrateful – beast – "

Cleek caught her sharply by the arm and spun her around as though she had been made of paper. His face was grim.

"One moment," he cried in a sharp staccato. "This lady is going to give trouble. Well, then, the moment can be delayed no longer. Constable – bring in your prisoner."

He gave a shrill whistle, strode across the room, fitted the key into the lock, and in an instant there was pandemonium.

For of a sudden there was a stifled scream from somewhere in the room – a hurried breath and a woman's voice shrilled out, "Oh, I cannot bear it any longer – I cannot! I cannot!" Then the door flashed open to admit of two policemen, who had slung between them the stooping figure of a man, closely handcuffed, and with a dark scrub of beard showing upon his unshaven chin. Came another scream; a boy's shrill voice lifted excitedly, "Uncle Antoni!" followed by a scuffling of a man's footsteps. Cleek took a quick step forward in the midst of all the confusion, caught at someone's sleeve and held it in a grip like a vise, rapped out in a sharp voice, "Catch him, Dollops! Catch the beggar before he slips out through the open door and gives us the 'go-by' – the beastly blighter!" Then, all in a moment, he was fighting and twisting and doubling to regain his hold upon the man who was trying to escape; there was a muttered curse, and a flying foot came out and caught the leg of a delicate table, sending it toppling over with a crash in the midst of them; the grating of a key in a lock, and – the end had come!

Brushing a piece of dust from his sleeve as P. C. Mackay snapped the bracelets upon still another prisoner, Cleek turned and surveyed the room with flushed cheek and flashing eye.

"Friends," he said blandly, "your man – your murderer. Caught as red-handed as one could wish – and as innocently as a babe, too!"

And pointed toward the manacled, fighting figure of James Tavish!